


Divinity

by eidolonsight



Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 10:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14282736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eidolonsight/pseuds/eidolonsight
Summary: Intangible gods were pointless, he much preferred one that could smile back.





	Divinity

Worship was never a word Kabuto needed in his life. 

After Nonou died, his faith faltered and fell, religion served no purpose. What became a solid truth in his mind is that the world is simply cruel. If there is a god, it’s indifferent to the suffering of good, innocent people, and to try and gain its favor is useless. Those are his views, firm, should anyone ask. In turn he’s baffled by those who fall to their knees for idols or symbols; what is there to worship? An object, a thought intangible, something that cannot speak or validate the work put into appease nothing but material objects so easily destroyed. His own concepts of self are nebulous enough without a formless being in his life serving as judge and jury, enforcing arbitrary rules.

If the god were something physical, at least, that would make sense. If he could see miracles with his own eyes it would be different.

And, isn’t it a miracle to see shadows of serpents blend to life and coil around a mans arm? For wine to never run dry in his glass, frames fixed with a wave of well manicured hands, the dead brought to life? They could easily be seen as such.

With time passing, he wonders, what would god look like? Wouldn’t god be beautiful? So similar to humans, crafted in its design, but different, not quite right. Perhaps, god would be something existing outside of gender. Maybe he would be vain. He would have waves of dark hair spilling down his back in a brilliant curtain. Despite making humans in his image, finding something that speaks to him in the curve of a snakes body, the way black scales catch in light and shine in a hundred different colors. Maybe he would be stuck on earth in an ever shifting body, trying and halfway to gaining back his power.

Even if worship is a pointless act, he finds a satisfaction in assuring the maybe god of his power, of his place on top of the food chain. To receive a sweet grin, eyes wrinkled in a way different from his smirk. Something in return for the offering.

So life goes on and he finds new ways to earn his approval.

Belief not in abstract concepts but one person who despite being so devious in nature, accepts his devotion with sincerity. The medic who didn't need worship found it in pale skin and dark lips. A simple minded satisfaction in brushing through the hair spilling down like water around his hands, bringing offerings of fruits and wine, prayer taken form of quiet hopes and desires beyond what is asked, merely to spend time in his presence. To curl at his feet with plush cushions, reading as he works, paints out the memories of being grand, of creating.

Loving something unseen is so useless, he thinks, when it feels so nice to have a god reach out in return to give an assuring touch, a gentle tone meant only for his acolyte. And maybe this is a religion in its own right. This is what is called blind faith, where the unwavering belief lies not in what cannot be seen but what cannot be known behind serpentine eyes. Maybe his god loathes him in private but tolerates his being only because of his devotion. Just as god, no longer omniscient, would never understand the depth of his feelings. But somehow he doubts such a thing could come to be, that there is any ill intention behind gentle caress and murmured invitation to rise from his alter and dine in the temple, in care taken when the disciple falls victim to his own needs of mind and body. No - his faith may be blinded by private thoughts, but it's never unfounded. 

It's why he doesn't hesitate, as time goes on, to preach his own religion. Even if he knows anyone else trying to follow in his steps would be struck down by the whims of a fickle demon, claiming inadequacy with others, a subtle admission of favoritism. The devotee takes it without question. He who never needed faith nor unseen truths finds just that in the silence that hangs between believer and worshiped in bed. The god cast out of heaven still satisfies mortal desires just as well, maybe more than any other could, and it only serves to strengthen his worship. 

Even if paradise is only a passing thing when the god is destructive, chaotic, acting on impulse to piece together a puzzle uncomprehending to mortal minds, he follows in the wake with unwavering stride. To be devoted is to live and die by the word of god. He is more than happy to do so. 


End file.
